


the demon within

by atriums



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Colonialism, M/M, Religious Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:08:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1796674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atriums/pseuds/atriums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I must repent.</i>
</p>
<p>It is the only reason Wu Fan agrees to his father's ridiculous idea in the first place. It is the only thing that keeps him rooted in his seat, keeps his tongue still in his mouth as he bites it to hold back the words of protest that yearn to escape.</p>
<p>It is this thought, and this thought alone, that has kept Wu Fan in his rightful place where he belongs. As the son of a Minister, it is his duty to learn the tricks of the trade and to follow in his father's footsteps.</p>
<p>This, he supposes, is just another step forward in that direction. It is necessary.</p>
<p>
  <i>I must repent.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the demon within

_I must repent._

It is the only reason Wu Fan agrees to his father's ridiculous idea in the first place. It is the only thing that keeps him rooted in his seat, keeps his tongue still in his mouth as he bites it to hold back the words of protest that yearn to escape.

It is this thought, and this thought alone, that has kept Wu Fan in his rightful place where he belongs. As the son of a Minister, it is his duty to learn the tricks of the trade and to follow in his father's footsteps.

This, he supposes, is just another step forward in that direction. It is necessary.

_I must repent._

It is necessary, because he is Wu Fan, the son of the Minister of the Treasury and it is his duty bestowed upon him from the moment of his conception. Providence has lain his path out before him, has chosen and cemented it in stone, and to defy it would only result in his eternal suffering.

Wu Fan clutches his left hand into a fist, right hand signing the contract with meticulous strokes of calligraphy. Across from him is a woman mirroring his gestures, a curtain of dark hair obscuring half of her face. She's pretty, with a dark fey gaze and a Cupid's bow mouth painted scarlet. She holds herself up well despite being from a lesser background than he, the daughter of what was once just a common farmer and had now established himself as one of the premiere merchants of the territory. Wu Fan's father called them new money, all of their riches self-made rather than inherited, and as a Minister he believed the union of Wu Fan and the merchant's daughter would yield splendorous fruit.

His logic is irrefutable, and so Wu Fan signs the official betrothal contract.

Her name is Meng Jia.

_I must repent. I must atone for letting this demon inhabit my body._

 

 

Wu Fan was a happy child. He grew up being doted upon by his loving mother and proud father, the culmination of their union that was meant for great things. Of all the memories he has, even among the oldest, his father has been pushing him forward, pushing him to excel and to be the best. They considered him a prodigy, one who mastered the art of spoken and written language well before anyone had expected of him.

But even then, Wu Fan knew there was something wrong with him. Perhaps he had been born with the demon already inside of him, or maybe it was a strange series of events that allowed it to fester and grow until it became the monster it is today.

The first time he noticed it was during a gala, a celebration of the upper echelon of society for a reason he couldn't quite recall. Or he didn't understand, being as young as he was. His father had dragged him along, slapped his large palm into his back, and watched his son struggle to adapt to his limbs as he grew into his too long legs. He was awkward, unsteady, and yet his father had shoved him forward anyway and warned him not too flirt too much with the young maidens.

That night, Wu Fan hadn't even spared the young girls around his age a second look. He had his eye on the cute serving boy instead, the one by the drink fountain that poured the finest wines from which he was still too young to sip. The boy had a fair few years on him but he was lovely, something about his smile that made him easy to look at.

The following morning Wu Fan followed his father and the other Ministers and their families to church. The Minsister of the Church took the stand and spent hours preaching about Providence and the Great One, about Elysium and the blessing of eternal life. He condemned sin, spoke of the suffering of Eternal Damnation as punishment for succumbing to sin.

But then the Minster of the Church's next words made the blood in Wu Fan's veins freeze, made his stomach twist into knots and made his breakfast crawl up his throat and spill over the floor in a grotesque mess that had many struggling to get away as quick as they could. Wu Fan's stomach roiled again when the Minister of the Church's voice stopped, when he asked Wu Fan if he was okay, but all he could do was apologize to the middle-aged woman for ruining her fine silk vestments.

Wu Fan's father apologizes profusely as several maids work to clean up the mess and light incense to eradicate the foul odor. The Minister of the Church pardons them with the suggestion to find a new family cook, but Wu Fan knows the truth.

This is the beginning of his punishment for he has already been embraced by sin.

Wu Fan will never forget those words for as long as he lives.

 

 

_“It is only natural for a man and a woman to lie together, but they must only do so with the blessing from the Divine One through a ceremony of marriage. To lie beside someone without His blessing is to sin, perhaps the greatest of them all for a woman and a woman or a man and a man to lie together. Anyone guilty of such Sins has already condemned themselves to Eternal Damnation._

_“It would be a kindness to prepare them for their Eternity at the stake.”_

 

 

Wu Fan would spend years thinking something was wrong with him, would spend years fighting with himself whenever his gaze would stray to the maid's visiting son, or the chef's young apprentice. Wu Fan did not wish for these things to happen to him, he wished to live and serve the Divine One according to what was written in Providence. He wished for nothing more than to fulfill his duties as a man, which would include marrying and furthering his family.

And yet, he continued to indulge himself in sin. It was like raging a war within himself, knowing he should not do something and being powerless to stop himself. Wu Fan had just been crowned a man among his people by the time he realized that there must have been something more to his sin than what met the eye.

Wu Fan was 18 years old when he realized there was a demon inside of him. There had to be. It was the only thing that made sense.

So he vowed to himself every night that he would atone for the sins this demon has made him commit because he was too much a coward to seek out an exorcist.

 

 

Her name is Meng Jia and she is bright and lovely and ideal. Friendship blooms between them, sweet-smelling and succulent as the vermilion fruit that colors her plush mouth. She listens well, but also has words of her own that she says often. She is wise – educated and cultured, though there is a certain rawness around the edges that tells of her youth spent in poverty.

Jia was not always like this. She was pulled out of the mud as a young girl by the hand of her very father, trained to lace her bodice and smile like her eyes were made of diamonds.

Being the daughter of a self-made merchant, it is rare for the man to be away from his crops, and when he is not with his crops, he is peddling away in the town square to earn every cent he carries in his pocket. It is Jia's mother, Huang Huifen, that has been handling the matters of Wu Fan and Jia's betrothal alongside of his father. They meet frequently to discuss important matters like...well, Wu Fan has to admit he doesn't know what it is that Huifen discusses with his father but it must be important since he and Jia are always shooed off to “get to know one another.”

It's when Wu Fan's mother volunteers to come to one of their meetings when everything changes.

 

 

_Jia has a brother._

 

 

At Wu Jingfei's behest, Wu Fan's family manages to sit down with Jia's family to have a proper dinner where they can meet one another before the wedding. “It is only fair,” Jingfei says, “that we all get to meet one another before the union of our families.”

The dinner is hosted at the Wu's estate, prepared by a special team of cooks and meant to be comfortable and quaint, but also meant to impress on what Jingfei hopes is a subtle level. She has never been a fan of the bourgeois air that surrounds the other councilmen and their families, and it is on that level that she and Jia bond well as a mother and future daughter-in-law.

Jia's father is a stoutly man, face weathered by both the sun and age. He is thick and skin dark, evidence of a man that spends all of his time outside and one that works hard. Wu Fan feels inadequate next to his future father-in-law, but the man seems to be jovial and approving of their union nonetheless.

Beside them is the man that has Wu Fan's blood boiling in his veins, has the demon within him clawing at his insides and struggling to rend flesh from bone from the sheer force of want that radiates through him. Wu Fan is taken aback by Huang Zitao, taken aback by how the young man – having only been crowned just this past year – also carries with him the same fey gaze and Cupid's bow mouth as his sister. Both of them bear a startling resemblance to their mother, who was no doubt beautiful in her prime but withered now with age. Where Jia is soft and feminine and supple, Zitao carries parts of his father in him that makes his build thick and shapes him in a way that is irrevocably, undeniably _male._

The demon roars within Wu Fan with the ferocity of a crumbling mountain, tears at his insides with the strength of a thousand typhoons, and forces his gaze to stray from the soft angles of Jia's face to the harsh lines that make the image of her younger brother, Zitao.

As their gazes meet, Wu Fan knows he has lost. The demon wants, and it will not be satisfied until it has fed.

 

 

“What are your intentions?”

Wu Fan recoils as Zitao takes a seat beside him, his body pressed so close that Wu Fan can feel how he radiates heat. The words startle him, confuse him, but the endless want building up inside of him is worse.

“W-what do you mean?” Wu Fan stumbles over his words, fingers pulling at the hem of his embroidered silk tunic. He tells himself to look away from Zitao, to chase the young boy away with the chill of his shoulders, but he ends up doing the opposite instead. Even tracing the outline of Zitao's profile has quieted the demon for now. It's okay, Wu Fan tells himself, so long as he is only looking.

“I saw how you look at her. You see her, but not as a husband should see his wife.” The force of Zitao's gaze, hard and earnest in his inquiry, forces Wu Fan to look away. An ache builds in his chest as the demon cries out in disappointment and agony. When he closes his eyes, Wu Fan sees the outline of Zitao's profile painted so vividly in the backs of his eyelids.

It scares him. It _thrills_ him, but at the same time, leaves him speechless. Zitao is right. Wu Fan does not see Jia how a man should see his wife, and Wu Fan knows that as long as he harbors this demon within him – so long as he can see Zitao's outline even with his eyes closed – that he will not see her that way.

But he can try. And he will.

Eventually, Wu Fan says, “I am not the one with intentions.”

The hardened lines of Zitao's face melt and reveal his youth. “Ah,” he hums, “that is right. Your father and my mother, I believe?” Then he's laughing, a short, cut-off sound that was long enough to show genuine amusement but curt enough to not draw attention to himself. Wu Fan checks behind them anyway, fingernails digging into his palms as he tries to destroy the errant thought that he would love to hear Zitao's laughter again.

A hand falls on his shoulder. Wu Fan jerks away at the touch like it burns, separates their connection before the demon crawls into his skin and takes control of him. There will be no coming back for redemption if he gives in.

Zitao is puzzled by Wu Fan's reaction, but does not say anything as his hand falls back to his side. “I sense that you are a good man,” he speaks, “but if you fail me, gods be damned I will have your head on a stake.”

Wu Fan's stomach churns at the gruesome imagery. He promises for both himself and for Jia that he will be the best husband he can be.

 

 

They spend weeks getting to know one another, weeks of leisurely strolls through sprawling wildlife and weeks of well-practiced courtship. There are many differences between Jia and her family, and Wu Fan's. Some differences make him question their impending union in the first place but he bites his tongue.

Jia's family still worships the old gods. They still practice searching for the ultimate happiness and attribute their success to their constant prayers to the Goddess of the Harvest, a practice considered by many to be archaic and lesser. Now that Wu Fan is set to marry Jia, he hears the whispers and sees the looks of scorn thrown their way.

He doesn't understand, until one day he is approached by the Minister of the Church and asked to invite his wife-to-be to a communion. He agrees, but hesitates when he stumbles upon her in mid-prayer. Jia has shared with him much of her beliefs, but has never once impressed upon him the urge to convert like the whispers haunting them have. She is devout in her faith, her whole family is, and she loves each of the gods that she worships with everything in her.

Wu Fan dares not to take that away, instead he secretly envies the happiness of which they get to enjoy. The old gods preach of equivalent exchange, of finding happiness in both this life and the next, and Wu Fan envies that he may never experience that. The new religion has only instilled fear into him since he was a child, has condemned the practices of the old gods as barbaric, and has shamed the lives of many.

It's so unfair.

Wu Fan doesn't ask, and the next morning he skips communion. The glimpse he catches of Zitao's early morning smile is worth it.

 

 

After that, Zitao spends less and less time working with his father and more time at home. He says it is because there is not enough work for him to do and Wu Fan does not question it. He knows very little about the way of the land.

“My father said he'd be over after Communion,” Wu Fan relates as he helps himself to the wonderful breakfast Huifen has cooked. The woman nods, her mouth twitching upward into a poorly hidden smile. It is the third week in a row that Wu Fan has skipped communion, and other than the scathing looks he has gotten from the Minster of the Church himself, Wu Fan hasn't heard any complaints.

If anything, he seems to be impressing himself well upon Jia and her family. (Even if the only person he seeks approval from is Zitao, but he won't ever admit that.)

“Ah, we've still got a few more hours, haven't we?” Huifen turns to her daughter with a smile. “What say you to going to the market today? Just you and me.”

Jia agrees, and soon the table is cleared off and the two women have departed. Wu Fan has been left alone with Zitao and his face grows pleasantly warm with the thought. He wants to say something, to keep Zitao's attention rapt on him, but he can't think of words to say.

Well, words that haven't been crafted by the demon and laden with intent.

Zitao is the one to break the silence. “It's strange, isn't it?” he asks, head tilted to the side as he ponders. _Cute_ – the thought comes unbidden. “Our parents have been planning this marriage for months now and it has yet to happen.”

Wu Fan's throat goes dry as he swallows. “Yeah – strange.” He cannot disagree.

 

 

One day, Wu Fan makes a mistake: he gives in to the demon. The purr of satisfaction that builds up in his throat as he rests his hand on Zitao's shoulder doesn't scare him like it should.

 

 

Weeks more go by, and in that time Wu Fan is able to build a wall between himself and his enigmatic bride-to-be. The details of their wedding are still murky even now. Huifen and Wu Fan's father still meet on a regular basis to work out the finer details, so they say. Wu Fan has no reason to doubt them, but the closer he gets to Jia's younger brother the more he entertains the questions Zitao murmurs under his breath when he thinks no one is listening.

If Zitao notices the fast fading wisps of friendship and what-could-have-beens, he says nothing. Truth to be told, Wu Fan is of the mind that Jia's interest in their union has waned considerably. She goes to the market whenever she can, leaves the manor and leaves Wu Fan whenever she can.

Wu Fan isn't bothered, he has Zitao. And the golden silence from his inner beast is worth it.

Wu Fan and Zitao grow inseparable, and they develop a companionship unlike anything Wu Fan has experienced before. He lights up with contentment and is forever unable to stop the smile that twists at his lips whenever he so much as hears his name. Zitao soothes him, is like the cool northern winds on a humid summer's day, and Wu Fan can't fathom how he was once afraid of how wrong this was.

 

 

But one day, the demon wakes up. _It Wants More._

 

 

It happens when Zitao has taken him out to the harbor to watch the fishermen. Zitao is telling him stories about the days he would follow his father out here and jump in the water, trying to help them catch fish so they could go home and eat well that night. Back then, Zitao had been just a clumsy little thing that wobbled on his own two feet, nevermind having the coordination and patience fishing required.

“I can do it now.” Zitao beams, slipping off his shoes and rolling up the cotton fabric of his trousers. He wades into the water, slowly, and finds a nice niche in between a group of boulders. Wu Fan follows him, crawls on top of the rock so he stays dry and can closely watch Zitao. His mother would have a fit, as would his tailor, if he ruined his silk clothes with salt water.

Zitao is fierce and intense in the water, and he fumbles with his first attempt. “It's been a while,” he laughs. A thick clump of dark hair falls loose from its restraint and obscures part of Zitao's face from view. It adds to the image of a hard worker that Zitao unknowingly paints with his body – skin sun-kissed gold, his frame shaped by lithe muscles that ripple with every movement.

Zitao bites his tongue between his Cupid's bow mouth, eyes following the shadow of something under water. He holds his breath, he waits, and then –

“I got it!” Zitao cheers loudly, holding within both hands a slight, grey colored fish. It flops about wildly in his hands, and as soon as Wu Fan smiles and praises Zitao, he lets it go and clamors out of the water.

It happens when Zitao is standing next to him on the large boulder, the sun shining down on him. His shadow casts Wu Fan in darkness. Zitao looks beautiful beneath the light of the sun like this, with its reflection painting along his skin with vibrant hues. Each shade is a fragment of a story, one Wu Fan so desperately yearns to piece together and read in its entirety.

One day, Wu Fan promises as the demon roars to life.

_One day._

 

 

One day, it all falls apart.

Wu Fan doubts that a wedding between nobles should take over a year to plan. Even then, it is his own wedding – shouldn't he know something else other than the fact it will be happening? He grows confused with each passing day that he and his father make their way over to the Meng Manor, grows more uncertain as the details are still as unclear as the year before, when both he and Jia had sat down and signed the marriage contract.

Jia is out with a friend of hers – and this makes 10 days in a row that Wu Fan has not been able to see his fiancee. It would not bother him except for the fact both he and his father know she is busy and unable to see him, and yet every morning he insists on making the journey over with that excuse alone.

“This is ludicrous,” Wu Fan mutters as he makes his way to the sitting room. He does not see his father or Huifen present, and stops a maid nearby as she is dusting off family portraits to inquire their whereabouts.

Her response confuses him, but he follows her directions to the master chambers.

It falls apart when Wu Fan does not think to announce his presence and enters. It falls apart when Wu Fan catches his father and his future mother-in-law in a position best described as compromising, the two of them in bed together. They spare him wide-eyed looks and separate, rearranging their layers of clothes as they stammer and try to explain that it isn't what it seems.

How could it be anything but?

“I see,” is all Wu Fan says, and he pulls the door shut behind him. Their pleas fall upon deaf ears.

There is a war inside of him. He can't get the image of his father in bed with another woman, being unfaithful to his wonderful mother, out of his mind. His face burns with shame, with embarrassment, and tears blur at his vision. His heart aches in his chest.

One year ago, Wu Fan had a picture of his future. It was not a physical image, but one he would see every time he closed his eyes. He pictured himself married to Jia, with an estate of their own, and a fair few children running about. He pictured going to Communion, he pictured following the path lain out before him by Providence and spreading the message of the Divine One through the rest of his land as people before had done for him. Just as his father had done before him.

Over the past year, the image has changed. Jia and the children are faded figures in the distance. Now, Wu Fan sees the outline of Zitao's profile, of Zitao's mouth curved into a smile with the sun-kissed glow of his skin as dusk settles over the horizon.

Everything Wu Fan knows is crumbling to dust in his very hands, but even now he still thinks only of Zitao. He still trusts only Zitao to hold him together before he returns to dust alongside the rest. Maybe it's the demon finally taking over, but maybe it's not.

_Zitao._

Wu Fan finds Zitao in his own room, sitting in front of a mirror as he brushes the tangles from his dark hair. He is the picture of serenity, eyes closed as he works the brush through the length of it. He jumps when Wu Fan appears before him and falls into his arms. He can pretend everything is safe when it's just the two of them, lost in the warm embrace of Zitao's arms.

“What – what's going on?” Zitao is distressed to see Wu Fan like this.

Wu Fan tells him everything. He feels like a dam that has broken and a rushing ravine has been unleashed, sweeping away entire villages in one giant wave of frigid waters.

Somehow, Zitao withstands it all. Zitao holds him close despite his own despair, because the man turning to ash in his hands is more important than his own issues. There have always been cracks in the surface that is Wu Fan, with jagged edges, that Zitao has always done his best to patch up.

It hurts to think that his mother was having an affair, but Zitao isn't surprised. His parents haven't been close in years and they have barely spoken a word to one another unless out of necessity. But Zitao compartmentalizes that hurt as he uses his thumbs to wipe away the moisture that beads at the corner of Wu Fan's eyes.

Wu Fan's breath catches in his throat as their gazes meet, and in that single moment, there is something electrifying that travels from Zitao's body and into his own where they touch. It is sudden, though not unpleasant, and it brings with it a shot of clarity that has his face going pale as he jerks from Zitao's embrace.

“Wu Fan?”

“I – I can't –”

Zitao bites his tongue at the manic look in the other's eyes.

“I can't,” Wu Fan says, shaking his head. He grabs a fistful of dark hair and rips it from the tie at the base of his neck, and suddenly there is a picture of a desperate man stumbling drunkenly on the edge of a precipice that leads into a vast unknown standing before Zitao. “I _can't_ – the. The demon – _he_. I just – he is poisoning me and I let him – oh god I let him _win._ ”

Zitao chokes back a sob of emotion as it clogs and burns at his throat. Is this what Wu Fan has been holding back inside of him the entire time, an errant belief that he is _possessed_? Zitao is but a young man and finds himself wading through murky waters, hesitantly, because he does not know how to approach the broken, blabbering man before him.

Wu Fan has started a litany of incoherent ramblings, eyes darting to and fro like a man having gone mad. He rambles about sin and about Providence the confusion building up inside of him. Nothing makes sense but Zitao picks out what he can – bits about the affair he just witnessed, more nonsensical babble about the Church, interspersed with mentions of the demon again until finally – _Zitao._

It takes a moment, and then everything makes sense.

“What if –” Zitao swallows around the emotion in his throat and tries again, “What if none of that matters?”

Wu Fan opens his mouth to protest, but Zitao hushes him and brings him close. Wu Fan folds into him with an almost childlike ease. “Close your eyes and quiet your mind, Wu Fan,” Zitao says softly. “It's just noise. Turn it off. Turn it off and listen to your heart. What is it telling you?”

Zitao leads them to the bed so they can sit, and Wu Fan still clings to him with large hands and a quivering bottom lip. Something in Zitao's chest lurches at the sight, and he rubs the creases out of thick brows without even really thinking about it.

Eventually, Wu Fan murmurs, “You.”

Zitao blinks owlishly. “What?”

“My h-heart,” Wu Fan says, “it's whispering your name.”

Zitao smiles as he replies, “Then let's go somewhere where it is only what our hearts say which is most important.”

 

 

It's impulsive. It's crazy. It's the biggest risk either of them had ever taken in their lives – one they had almost not taken at all, until Zitao had quietly voiced his query against the shell of Wu Fan's ear: “What have we been doing?”

Wu Fan doesn't reply, but they both know the answer.

_Preparing. We have been preparing for this day._

 

 

They leave at night, hidden in the shadows with only the stars in the sky to guide them. For the first time in a long, long time, Wu Fan's mind is quiet and he has never been more at ease.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Years later, when they have settled down in a quaint village in the island nation, Zitao will find _Yifan_ standing beneath a cherry blossom tree. A breeze will blow and pink petals will scatter, landing neatly in the open palm of his hand.

Zitao will approach him with a smile, and their bodies will align themselves side by side the way they were always meant to be. He will know what the thin line of Yifan's lips means, will know the furrow of his brow, and the glint in his eyes will say the words his mouth does not.

“Has the demon returned?” Zitao will ask, a mirthful twist to his Cupid's bow mouth. By then it will be nothing more than a memory, a jest remembered for the sake of years past.

But Yifan will not laugh like he usually does, instead he will smile and bring Zitao close enough to take the breath from his lungs and breathe it back into him with a torrid kiss. “The demon was the fear with exorcised to seek our happiness,” he will say, a break in their typical jovial banter.

“Have we found it?”

“I found it in _you_.”

Zitao will shine brilliantly as he replies, “ _And I you._ ”

because everything has finally

f  
 a  
  l  
   l  
    e  
     n

into its rightful place


End file.
